Definitely give this link a try. It's a really cool short film.
http://www.campaignforrealbeauty.ca/bblank.asp?id=6895
http://www.campaignforrealbeauty.ca/bblank.asp?id=6895
posted by mel at
10:01 AM
Monday, October 23, 2006
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
-->Wednesday, April 05, 2006
-->Monday, April 03, 2006
Psychopath Killer or Programmer?
Take the quiz to see if you can tell the difference....
=-=-=
On a different note, something inspiring...
Insightful Thoughts from Maya Angelou
"I've learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow."
"I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights."
"I've learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life."
"I've learned that making a "living" is not the same thing as "making a life."
"I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance."
"I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw some things back."
"I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision."
"I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one."
"I've learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone."
"People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back."
"I've learned that I still have a lot to learn."
"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."
Take the quiz to see if you can tell the difference....
=-=-=
On a different note, something inspiring...
Insightful Thoughts from Maya Angelou
"I've learned that no matter what happens, or how bad it seems today, life does go on, and it will be better tomorrow."
"I've learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights."
"I've learned that regardless of your relationship with your parents, you'll miss them when they're gone from your life."
"I've learned that making a "living" is not the same thing as "making a life."
"I've learned that life sometimes gives you a second chance."
"I've learned that you shouldn't go through life with a catcher's mitt on both hands; you need to be able to throw some things back."
"I've learned that whenever I decide something with an open heart, I usually make the right decision."
"I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one."
"I've learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone."
"People love a warm hug, or just a friendly pat on the back."
"I've learned that I still have a lot to learn."
"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."
posted by mel at
4:08 PM
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Tribute to a friend most faithful
Grief overwhelming.
My heart aches and my eyes well up.
The silence left in his wake is deafening.
Every second is shadowed by the devastation of losing him.
It seems a dream - a nightmare that I'll awaken from.
As if any minute now, he'll come bounding up to me
With his bright eyes, happy smile, and joyful prance
To welcome me and entice me into playing with him.
From the moment he entered our lives to the day he left,
he's placed an indelible paw print on our hearts.
Cocoa Fung-Wang
1993 - 2006
I want to tell a story. I want to spill out everything I remember of this courageous life. It may be boring to others, but to me, it helps keep the memory of a life - one that has had indescribable impact on me - alive.
In May of 1993, after the death of my father, we encountered a 2-month old Lhasa Apso. Our aunt and uncle wanted to get us a dog to help us through our time of mourning. To be honest, I was not so impressed with him at first. I was wanting a Husky or a Lab Retriever. He was a fluffball compared to these breeds. As the pet store owner held him, he looked very dull and sluggish. It wasn't til the owner had put him down to talk with us that we got a sense of his intelligence and spunk. As we were all pre-occupied, he managed to silently sneak away and get halfway down the aisle before we noticed his absence.
When we made the decision to bring him home, his dark brown - grey coat prompted my brother to suggest "Chocolate" as a name. My mother, deeming Chocolate a bit of a mouthful when calling out to him suggested "Cocoa". Little did we know that his thick wavy coat would lighten within a year to a light greyish-beige colour, making Cocoa a somewhat incongruous name.
Through the years, Cocoa commanded a very special place in our hearts. He sported a mop-headed look with a major underbite, which had a certain irresistable charm to it. He never really barked like a "normal dog" - his bark was a combination of a rooster crow, and a stifled but impassioned howl. Whenever my mom played on the piano, no matter what he was doing, he would rush over and howl along in a heartfelt rendition that evoked the most emotional and gut-wrenching of performances. His happy demeanour and proud and joyful strut (head held high and paws lifted with gusto) stopped traffic - people would stop their cars and pull off to the side just to ask us what breed he was. He was very easily embarassed - a bad haircut or a funny collar from the vet would find him hunched over in shame, refusing to leave the front foyer. His big chocolate-coloured soulful eyes were mighty powerful - they could convey exuberant love for us ... or magically move whatever we were eating at the moment into his mouth. And, boy did he love to eat! The slightest sound of lights turning on in the kitchen would stir him from his deep slumber and send him hurtling over any obstacles in his way to get to where the food might be.
Beyond his adorable mannerisms however, he was also a real trooper. In his short life (he passed away exactly 13 years from his day of birth), he faced more trials and adventures than most dogs would:
Looking back, there were so many times where he could have been taken away from us. And yet, I think because God knew how much we treasured this creation of His, He was faithful to watch over and heal in miraculous and vet-confounding ways. Though he didn't live anywhere near as long as we would have liked him to live, his life, though a tough one with many complications, was a full one. He was loved as much as was humanly possible. If I believed in reincarnation, I would want to come back as a dog in my parents' household.
With all his many great traits however, the most outstanding feature in this brave little soul was his faithfulness and reckless abandon in loving us. Even when his body was wracked with pain, he felt it was of supreme importance to fervently welcome us and never failed to do so. Even though I haven't lived at home on a regular basis for almost 10 years, his love for me and his excitement in seeing me never waned. Old by dog standards, he became a puppy again whenever my brother or I returned home. He would bump open our bedroom doors in the morning to wake us up or wait outside the washroom door when we were occupying it so he could make the most of every moment he had with us. The resigned sigh and the sound of a body settling down against our door was a telltale sign of Cocoa's presence.
In the last year, his struggle to walk became more arduous, his eyes less bright, his energy level more subdued. We learned that he had developed lung cancer, and the life we treasured began slowly deteriorating.
I think he must have known that his days were numbered. In the last two weeks, he had dragged his weak and unco-operative body on an urgent daily pilgrimage (sometimes several times a day) to the door of my old bedroom. When he had the energy, he would scratch vigourously, hoping I would appear. When he was unable to gather enough energy to scratch, he would just slump down outside my door and wait.
With a heavy heart, I flew home to Toronto last night to spend some quality time with this beloved and precious puppy. Some may feel it's ridiculous to spend so much money just to be with a dog. To me however, it was one of my most worthwhile investments. With all the love and faithfulness this puppy had invested in me, celebrating with me through good times and seeing me through some of my toughest times, providing silent but warm comfort, the least I could do was say my proper goodbyes. True doglovers out there will know that saying goodbye to a dog is as hard as saying goodbye to a human, if not harder. My brother used to always say that Cocoa was the best example of a Christian. He loved hard, forgave easily, put others first and gave freely.
Even when he was struggling to breathe and was scared by the discomfort and pain he felt, he put all that aside and licked my tear-streaked face reassuringly. My brother spent Cocoa's first night in our home curled up beside him, comforting him in his new surroundings. I spent Cocoa's last night of life, curled up beside him, trying to comfort him in his pain. His ragged breathing, yelps of pain, plugged sinuses and constant dehydration prevented him from a restful night. He was unable to drink or eat properly, so we had to handfeed him (thankfully in his pain, he still loved eating!) and use a syringe to dribble water into his parched mouth. In his fear and confusion over what was happening to him, he cried pitifully whenever he was left alone. His main comfort was the presence of the humans who were blessed with his faithful love over the years.
Tonight, in his last hour of life, he slept, nestled amongst his master and mistresses. My brother, who was unable to make it back home, was present through his music, which calmed Cocoa as he lay on the carpet, too weak to move. The vet kindly agreed to a home visit so Cocoa's last minutes of life would be in the comfort of the love-filled home he knew, not a cold steel "bed". We whispered our goodbyes, told him how much we loved him, and at around 8:20 pm, his life slipped away.
Many believe that animals don't have an afterlife. They believe that they live their life here, however long or short, however cruel or sweet, and when their heart beats their last beat, they just vanish into nothingness. I don't know for sure what happens. But I know that the God who has listened to our many prayers about Cocoa, the God who has performed many miracles on our beloved little dog, and the Biblical ambiguity on the subject provide enough hope for me that heaven will be the setting of my much-anticipated and delightful reunion with Cocoa.
I pray that right now he's up there, bright-eyed and frolicking through the fields with that joyful gait he had as a young puppy, with a youthful body that isn't burdened by all the many aches, pains and limitations he suffered on earth - one that won't disappoint him anymore, eating up a storm, and enjoying a life with the same sort of reckless abandon he enjoyed it while with us.
And in this awareness and new life I envision for him, I'm sure that he knows how much we love and miss him down here.
Grief overwhelming.
My heart aches and my eyes well up.
The silence left in his wake is deafening.
Every second is shadowed by the devastation of losing him.
It seems a dream - a nightmare that I'll awaken from.
As if any minute now, he'll come bounding up to me
With his bright eyes, happy smile, and joyful prance
To welcome me and entice me into playing with him.
From the moment he entered our lives to the day he left,
he's placed an indelible paw print on our hearts.
Cocoa Fung-Wang
1993 - 2006
I want to tell a story. I want to spill out everything I remember of this courageous life. It may be boring to others, but to me, it helps keep the memory of a life - one that has had indescribable impact on me - alive.
In May of 1993, after the death of my father, we encountered a 2-month old Lhasa Apso. Our aunt and uncle wanted to get us a dog to help us through our time of mourning. To be honest, I was not so impressed with him at first. I was wanting a Husky or a Lab Retriever. He was a fluffball compared to these breeds. As the pet store owner held him, he looked very dull and sluggish. It wasn't til the owner had put him down to talk with us that we got a sense of his intelligence and spunk. As we were all pre-occupied, he managed to silently sneak away and get halfway down the aisle before we noticed his absence.
When we made the decision to bring him home, his dark brown - grey coat prompted my brother to suggest "Chocolate" as a name. My mother, deeming Chocolate a bit of a mouthful when calling out to him suggested "Cocoa". Little did we know that his thick wavy coat would lighten within a year to a light greyish-beige colour, making Cocoa a somewhat incongruous name.
Through the years, Cocoa commanded a very special place in our hearts. He sported a mop-headed look with a major underbite, which had a certain irresistable charm to it. He never really barked like a "normal dog" - his bark was a combination of a rooster crow, and a stifled but impassioned howl. Whenever my mom played on the piano, no matter what he was doing, he would rush over and howl along in a heartfelt rendition that evoked the most emotional and gut-wrenching of performances. His happy demeanour and proud and joyful strut (head held high and paws lifted with gusto) stopped traffic - people would stop their cars and pull off to the side just to ask us what breed he was. He was very easily embarassed - a bad haircut or a funny collar from the vet would find him hunched over in shame, refusing to leave the front foyer. His big chocolate-coloured soulful eyes were mighty powerful - they could convey exuberant love for us ... or magically move whatever we were eating at the moment into his mouth. And, boy did he love to eat! The slightest sound of lights turning on in the kitchen would stir him from his deep slumber and send him hurtling over any obstacles in his way to get to where the food might be.
Beyond his adorable mannerisms however, he was also a real trooper. In his short life (he passed away exactly 13 years from his day of birth), he faced more trials and adventures than most dogs would:
- When he was just over one year old, he survived an impromptu and unsupervised night romp of the Bay of Fundy where wild animals abounded. Luckily he was found by a nice park ranger named Milo who was so smitten by him, he wanted to claim Cocoa as his own.
- When he was 5, he had an accident which left the back half of his body paralyzed and robbed him of his happy prance. Despite his obvious pain and discomfort, he would still crawl over in his doggie wheelchair (a cruel looking contraption that suspended his two hind legs) with great effort to lick our faces with love and spend time with us. Though the vets said he would never walk again, he overcame all the odds with the aid of God's miraculous healing, and slowly willed his body to walk again. His new walk consisted of front legs and hind legs each walking to a different beat - resulting in a comical drunken looking stumble. It was first demonstrated in a brave effort to rescue my mom from a spider. He heard her scream from downstairs and painstakingly made his way up the stairs to save the day. That was just like Cocoa - to put aside his pain and limitations in an effort to be there for us.
- At 11, he developed some very sharp and large stones in his urinary tract. The complications and the pain he was suffering was a very close call - we thought we would lose him. Yet, again God intervened in a way that surprised all the vets and miraculously extended his life.
Looking back, there were so many times where he could have been taken away from us. And yet, I think because God knew how much we treasured this creation of His, He was faithful to watch over and heal in miraculous and vet-confounding ways. Though he didn't live anywhere near as long as we would have liked him to live, his life, though a tough one with many complications, was a full one. He was loved as much as was humanly possible. If I believed in reincarnation, I would want to come back as a dog in my parents' household.
With all his many great traits however, the most outstanding feature in this brave little soul was his faithfulness and reckless abandon in loving us. Even when his body was wracked with pain, he felt it was of supreme importance to fervently welcome us and never failed to do so. Even though I haven't lived at home on a regular basis for almost 10 years, his love for me and his excitement in seeing me never waned. Old by dog standards, he became a puppy again whenever my brother or I returned home. He would bump open our bedroom doors in the morning to wake us up or wait outside the washroom door when we were occupying it so he could make the most of every moment he had with us. The resigned sigh and the sound of a body settling down against our door was a telltale sign of Cocoa's presence.
In the last year, his struggle to walk became more arduous, his eyes less bright, his energy level more subdued. We learned that he had developed lung cancer, and the life we treasured began slowly deteriorating.
I think he must have known that his days were numbered. In the last two weeks, he had dragged his weak and unco-operative body on an urgent daily pilgrimage (sometimes several times a day) to the door of my old bedroom. When he had the energy, he would scratch vigourously, hoping I would appear. When he was unable to gather enough energy to scratch, he would just slump down outside my door and wait.
With a heavy heart, I flew home to Toronto last night to spend some quality time with this beloved and precious puppy. Some may feel it's ridiculous to spend so much money just to be with a dog. To me however, it was one of my most worthwhile investments. With all the love and faithfulness this puppy had invested in me, celebrating with me through good times and seeing me through some of my toughest times, providing silent but warm comfort, the least I could do was say my proper goodbyes. True doglovers out there will know that saying goodbye to a dog is as hard as saying goodbye to a human, if not harder. My brother used to always say that Cocoa was the best example of a Christian. He loved hard, forgave easily, put others first and gave freely.
Even when he was struggling to breathe and was scared by the discomfort and pain he felt, he put all that aside and licked my tear-streaked face reassuringly. My brother spent Cocoa's first night in our home curled up beside him, comforting him in his new surroundings. I spent Cocoa's last night of life, curled up beside him, trying to comfort him in his pain. His ragged breathing, yelps of pain, plugged sinuses and constant dehydration prevented him from a restful night. He was unable to drink or eat properly, so we had to handfeed him (thankfully in his pain, he still loved eating!) and use a syringe to dribble water into his parched mouth. In his fear and confusion over what was happening to him, he cried pitifully whenever he was left alone. His main comfort was the presence of the humans who were blessed with his faithful love over the years.
Tonight, in his last hour of life, he slept, nestled amongst his master and mistresses. My brother, who was unable to make it back home, was present through his music, which calmed Cocoa as he lay on the carpet, too weak to move. The vet kindly agreed to a home visit so Cocoa's last minutes of life would be in the comfort of the love-filled home he knew, not a cold steel "bed". We whispered our goodbyes, told him how much we loved him, and at around 8:20 pm, his life slipped away.
Many believe that animals don't have an afterlife. They believe that they live their life here, however long or short, however cruel or sweet, and when their heart beats their last beat, they just vanish into nothingness. I don't know for sure what happens. But I know that the God who has listened to our many prayers about Cocoa, the God who has performed many miracles on our beloved little dog, and the Biblical ambiguity on the subject provide enough hope for me that heaven will be the setting of my much-anticipated and delightful reunion with Cocoa.
I pray that right now he's up there, bright-eyed and frolicking through the fields with that joyful gait he had as a young puppy, with a youthful body that isn't burdened by all the many aches, pains and limitations he suffered on earth - one that won't disappoint him anymore, eating up a storm, and enjoying a life with the same sort of reckless abandon he enjoyed it while with us.
And in this awareness and new life I envision for him, I'm sure that he knows how much we love and miss him down here.
Run carefree, smile big, eat well and know that you are dearly missed and loved my most faithful friend.
posted by mel at
9:40 PM
